


Curriculum

by synonomy



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exposure, First Time, Humiliation, Inexperience, M/M, Orgasm Control, Public Sex, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonomy/pseuds/synonomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Way is the weirdest teacher Frank's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curriculum

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: what you are about to read is rambling, mindless, ridiculous and utterly self-indulgent filth of the highest order, with absolutely no purpose other than the obvious. (I'd ask you not to judge me too harshly, but since this is by far my most popular work, somehow I don't think it's actually necessary, lol.)

Mr. Way is the weirdest teacher Frank's ever had.

For one, he isn't fat and balding and evil. He dresses smart for art class - vests and waistcoats and shirts and ties, but it's not stuffy or boring, it works for him. He's got dark messy hair and bright, interested eyes, and he's always wearing slightly dirty sneakers, sleeves sometimes rolled up to his elbows. Sometimes he hums under his breath when he's working at his desk, tapping his feet on the floor or chewing absentmindedly on the edge of his pencil. When they're doing something messy or experimental he'll roam around the desks, looking over people's shoulders, talking and suggesting things, gesticulating wildly with his hands the more excited he gets.

The thing is, Mr. Way is actually pretty hot. And he has this belt buckle that Frank kind of can't stop staring at. He wonders if it was Mr. Way's intention to draw attention to his crotch like that.

At first it's just a bit of a crush, which is no big deal. Frank's had crushes before, though admittedly not on a teacher, and also not on anybody quite so much older than him, because despite the fact Mr. Way isn't _old_ old, he's definitely too old for Frank. At first Frank thought he might be in his early twenties - because fuck if there isn't one single wrinkle or line on him - but the longer Frank looked at him (and, hey, pretty quickly Frank got to be spending _a lot_ of time looking at Mr. Way) the more he started to suspect he needed to round it up a little. There's just something around his eyes that seems older, words that hint at experience. Late twenties, then, maybe early thirties.

Sometimes when Frank is bored and playing up to the class and running his mouth off a little bit Mr. Way will just flash him this _look_ , right, and it's knowing and warning but also a little amused, just hinting at the corners of his mouth, and he doesn't even have to say anything because Frank will lose his train of thought right there, stuttering off into silence.

Those are the occasions when Frank has to jerk off when he gets home.

But after a while, it gets to be more. Shit, Frank never thought he'd look forward to going to school, but that's what happens. He actually starts trying in art, trying to talk to Mr. Way more, asking him questions, putting his hand up in discussions even when has no fucking clue what they're talking about. The best times are when he gets Mr. Way to come over, to stand close behind Frank as he looks at his work, so close Frank can feel the heat of him all along his side, body casting a shadow over him. Mr. Way smells like cigarettes and gum, kind of sweet and musty at the same time, and sometimes - sometimes, Frank gets a hint of his shampoo. Or maybe it’s aftershave. Or, like, whatever Mr. Way rubs on his skin to keep it looking so soft and pale.

Fuck, but Frank really doesn't want to be creepy. He's a hormonal teenager with a crush who can't stop staring and talking and trying to get close, and Mr. Way is his _teacher_. And even if he wasn't, he's an _adult_. Frank won't officially be an adult for like, three fucking years. He'd never be interested in Frank. Frank is a scrawny, scrappy, eighteen year-old kid with a bad haircut that lives at home with his _mom_. And on top of that, Mr. Way probably isn't even into guys. It's stupid and pointless.

Only, sometimes Frank thinks he catches Mr. Way looking at him. And not in that knowing, teacher-ly way either. At first he thinks it's just his imagination, that he's seeing what he wants to see, but then it will happen when Frank isn't even paying attention, when Mr. Way is at his desk so Frank's just staring blankly out the window or splayed back in his chair, waiting for the bell. Frank will glance over and meet Mr. Way's eyes and find they were already on him. He can never read anything particular in the looks, but he's _definitely_ looking. And as soon as he realizes Frank's noticed, he'll look away sharpish.

It _really_ doesn't help Frank feel less creepy. But then again, he figures, if by some impossible chance this thing could be _mutual,_ oh god - then it isn't creepy anymore, is it? Now it's like. _Flirting_ , almost. It sure feels like flirting to Frank, because now he knows Mr. Way looks at him, he starts trying to give Mr. Way something _to look at_. Splaying his legs in his chair, sucking a little on drawing utensils, playing with gum in his mouth; they're not even supposed to have it but Mr. Way never says anything, even when Frank starts stretching it out of his mouth from between his teeth, swirling his tongue around it to feed it back in, licking at his lips wide and sloppy.

Sometimes, when it's hot, he'll even unbutton his uniform shirt as low as he dares, sleeves rolled up high, sitting at the back of the classroom where it's hottest so his hairline will slick with sweat. None of it ever leads anywhere except Mr. Way's lingering, sideways glances, but Frank feels exhilarated anyway, turned on and nervous like he's doing something really dangerous.

It's almost like this secret he's sharing with Mr. Way, this forbidden thing they have sizzling in the air between them. Frank's jerking off pretty much every night now, head full of impossible, stupid fantasies - staying back late and sucking Mr. Way's cock at the back of the classroom, pressing him up against the blackboard and kissing him, bending over his desk and dropping his slacks for him--

Fuck, this is getting out of hand. Frank needs to stop.

Except the next day, Frank has fucking _double_ art in the afternoon, last thing. Dread fills him as he looks at his timetable; he had to change his sheets again this morning, and every inch of him feels wired, pent-up at just the _idea_ of having to be in Mr. Way's presence for two whole hours.

Mr. Way looks fucking hot as ever when Frank walks in, in his shirt and loosened tie, waistcoat on the back of his chair, pouting a little and moving his head to some tune he's humming under his breath as he writes on the board. It sounds like something Frank knows, something punk-y and raw, and Frank has to resist the urge to slam his face into his desk when he sits down, because _of course_ Mr. Way has good taste in music, of-fucking- _course_.

It doesn't get any easier as the class starts, either. It's a double session, so they're working with materials, and Mr. Way is in his element, strolling around the classroom with this stupidly adorable smile, hands pointing and waving and gesturing wildly as he talks through people's projects with them. Usually Frank would be all over it, calling Mr. Way over to show him something, using any excuse to talk to him. But right now, Frank just wants to get the hell out of here, go home and hide in his room and make himself come as many fucking times as he can, and then possibly eat his own bodyweight in chips while feeling extremely sorry for himself.

This whole thing is driving him _insane_ , being so close and not being able to touch. And it's not even like Frank's done a _whole_ lot of touching with anyone else, but _god_ , he wants to touch Mr. Way. He's never wanted to touch anyone more. (Except maybe _himself,_ fucking hell.)

He's just trying to keep to himself, mindlessly slapping paint on his shitty landscape picture, but of course, Mr. Way has to come over to see how he's doing, standing close behind Frank and looking over his shoulder. Frank goes very, very still, and tries to breathe normally. Mr. Way doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Frank kind of wants to slap himself in the face. He knows it sucks, okay, but who can blame him? Frank defies anyone to paint like fucking Picasso when Mr. Way's around.

Eventually, Mr. Way says, "Your perspective is a little off, Frank. You see, here?" And oh god, he's leaning over Frank, pointing to something on the page, but all Frank can register is Mr. Way's smell, the brush of his loose black tie against Frank's arm, the side of his neck, jawline smooth and curved. If Frank turned his head just a little he could put his face in it, lean in and feel Mr. Way's hair on his cheek, that pale skin under Frank's mouth--

"Frank?" Mr. Way's voice startles Frank back to reality, and Frank says quickly, "Yeah, yeah. I mean. I'll do that."

Mr. Way is quiet again, and Frank stares hard at his paper. "You know," Mr. Way says after another long moment, kind of softer, "If you're struggling with the work, I can give you some extra tuition."

 _Oh god_. "Oh, no - it's. It's okay, sir, I don't need--"

"Are you sure?" Mr. Way leans a little closer, so close Frank can feel his breath, minty-smoky. "I'm not judging you, Frank. There's nothing wrong with admitting you need a little extra help." And maybe it's just Frank's imagination, but something about the way he says _help_ settles heavy in the air, makes Frank's stomach flip a little.

"Fuck, _no_ ," Frank says harshly - loudly, and the room suddenly falls quiet.

The moment stretches. Panic rises up like bile in Frank's throat, but Mr. Way only says - in that same quiet tone so only Frank can hear - "I think you'd better see me after class, Frank." And then he's gone, off to loom over somebody else as the noise in the classroom slowly starts to rise again. A couple of people are looking at him oddly, Frank knows, but he doesn't even _care._

He's going to be alone with Mr. Way.

It's the longest class of Frank's life. By the time the bell sounds, Frank almost doesn't have any fingernails left. He packs away his things with slightly fumbling hands, moves to stand by Mr. Way's desk as everyone files out. Mr. Way is wiping the board, waving and saying some final things to the people who pass. It's strange, seeing a teacher who seems to actually give a shit about their students.

Frank doesn't realize he's staring until the door snaps shut and Mr. Way turns around to look at him. Frank jerks his eyes to the floor instead, watching Mr. Way's scruffy Converse sneakers round the desk and stop in front of Frank.

"So, Frank," he says after a pause, voice calm and measured. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Frank shakes his head immediately. _Fuck_ no, there's nothing Frank wants to tell him. Nothing that wouldn't probably get him suspended for sexual harassment, anyway.

Mr. Way sighs. The silence is thick and uncomfortable, and Frank just wants to _go._ The anxiety is doing a good job of keeping his boner in check, but Frank's worried Mr. Way can tell anyway, and it's making him sweat.

"You know, I meant what I said about the tuition. You're a bright kid, Frank. Really bright, in fact. I can tell. You just need to focus more."

"Yeah," Frank says, and coughs when his voice comes out kind of croaky. "I mean. Yes, sir. I'll try."

"No," Mr. Way says sternly, and the confusion makes Frank look up. Mr. Way's leaning against his desk, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed. "No, don't just say what you think I want to hear. Look, is there something else bothering you?"

 _Just that you're so hot I can't concentrate on anything other than your fucking crotch in your classes, that's all_. "Uh, no."

Mr. Way looks unconvinced. "I'm not trying to pry, Frank. Your personal life is your business. But just. I'm here, okay? If you ever want to talk, or anything."

"I can't." It's not what Frank meant to say, but _fuck_ if Mr. Way isn't making it difficult for him to bite his tongue right now.

"Can't what?" Mr. Way looks concerned now, and so earnest Frank kind of wants to punch him, right in his absurdly pretty face. "You can talk to me, I promise. Just between us, I swear." 

"No," Frank says, a little desperately now, "I mean I can't tell _you._ " He drops his eyes back to the floor, feeling his face flush hot. _Shit_.

Mr. Way is silent for a long time. A _really_ long time. Or maybe it just feels that way. Either way, Frank's fidgeting on his feet. When he finally speaks, it's incredibly confusing.

"Oh," he says softly. "Oh, I see." He rises to his feet, takes a step forward, until he's right in front of Frank. Frank keeps looking down. His heart is thudding so loud he's almost scared Mr. Way can hear it. "It's like that, is it, Frank?"

"What," Frank whispers. God, Mr. Way is so close. _Too_ close. Something's changed, some shift in the atmosphere that Frank can feel like a solid thing.

Mr. Way's hand raises slowly, ever-so-lightly cups Frank's bicep. "You know, if you find me so intolerable, Iero, I can always have you moved to another class."

"No," Frank gets out. "No, that's not it. It's just -" Fuck, he feels almost light-headed, thoughts a jumbled mess. All he can see are the soft white folds of Mr. Way's shirt over his chest, half-untucked from the waistband of his black pants-- that fucking _belt buckle,_ the oversized silver one that Frank's been thinking about undoing for _weeks_. And now it's under his nose, within easy reach.

"Yes, Frank?" Mr. Way says quietly. His touch is barely there, but as his hand slides down Frank's arm, over his waist, stopping just short of his hip, Frank can tell - it's _anything_ but teacher-ly, or even friendly.

Frank can't be misreading this.

It happens all at once: Frank reaching for Mr. Way, clumsy hands trying to bring their mouths together, and Mr. Way stepping back sharply, grabbing Frank's wrists and yanking him forwards, spinning him around. Suddenly Frank's being rapidly backed up, almost tripping over his feet, brain lagging behind; he gasps when his back suddenly connects hard with the door, and then again when Mr. Way presses into him, pinning Frank's wrists above his head and flushing their bodies together chest to knees.

For a long moment they just look at each other. Mr. Way's eyes are dark and intense. Frank's breathing hard, mind spinning, every inch of him hot. Slowly, Mr. Way releases his wrists, hand lowering to the door handle and for a terrible second Frank thinks this is it, that he's going to laugh in Frank's face and send him on his way.

Instead, he locks the door, holding Frank's eyes as it clicks, loud and heavy.

Frank inhales hard, licking his dry lips. _Holy shit_. He can't believe this is actually happening, after all this time he's spent thinking about it. Thinking about this exact scenario, even - Mr. Way pinning him to a wall, sliding those artist's hands up Frank's body. It's almost like a dream, tense and slow (still so _slow_ , Frank doesn't know where he finds the patience) spreading his palms over Frank's chest, clenching his fingers in the fabric of his shirt until it rucks up over Frank's hips, cool air on his flushed skin.

Mr. Way watches his own hands undo Frank's shirt, controlled and methodical, eyes raking over Frank's slightly trembling body as it's bared to him. Frank hesitates before lowering his own hands to his sides, flattening his palms against the door so he won't touch. Somehow, he knows he's not allowed to. His torso is rising and falling rapidly, and Mr. Way spends a long time just _looking_ , so long Frank finds himself fighting the urge to squirm, caught between shame and wanting to preen, feeling like a piece of meat, like one of the artworks.

Mr. Way runs a fingertip down Frank's sternum, over his ribs, circling his nipple lightly, making Frank shiver. "You really are terribly pretty, Frankie," he eventually says, heated, but not quite approving. "But I daresay you already know. You know _exactly_ what you've been doing to me." Frank starts to shake his head and Mr. Way looks up with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, you don't? Fucking sprawling in your chair and laying yourself out for me like that, you honestly didn't know what that would make me think? What that would make me want to _do_?"

Frank can't even answer, stuck on hearing the word _fucking_ in Mr. Way's voice, from his mouth. It's surreal, hearing him talk like this, like this whole other person Frank doesn't know - not his teacher, just another human being. "See, I think you _do_ know," Mr. Way continues, tracing his fingertip lightly around Frank's navel, the faint trail of hair leading down to his crotch. "I mean, surely that's what you wanted? Why else tease me like that? You just love people looking, people wanting you, _especially_ when you think it's somebody who can't have you."

Mr. Way's hand slides lower, over the front of Frank's pants, and Frank groans, hips pushing forward into the pressure against his cock as Mr. Way cups it in his palm, rubs him roughly through the fabric. "Only, I _can_ have you, Frank. See? You're hard for me." Mr. Way leans close, hot breath hitting Frank's ear. "You get hard for me a lot, don't you? You think about sucking me, about me fucking you, and touch yourself, don't you?"

" _Yes_ ," Frank admits breathlessly, hips jerking under Mr. Way's firm hand.

Mr. Way makes a rough, pleased noise under Frank's ear. His lips move against Frank's skin as he murmurs, "Y'know, you're kind of a slut, Frankie."

Frank wants to protest, but Mr. Way's teeth sink into his neck and Frank gasps and squirms instead, nails scraping against the door. He wants to grab Mr. Way's head, twist his fingers in his hair, but Mr. Way's hand is solid on his chest, holding him back, the other relentless on his cock, stroking and rubbing until Frank thinks he's in real danger of coming in his pants.

"Mr. Way," Frank chokes out desperately, and then the hand is gone and Mr. Way's tugging him forwards by his open shirt, over to the desk.

Frank can only be pliant. He lets Mr. Way pull his shirt from him, yields eagerly when he shoves Frank up against the desk, too worked up to care about the edge digging painfully into his spine. He's got his face in Mr. Way's neck and his hands grabbing for his shoulders - _fuck_ , all Frank can think about is how much he wants Mr. Way's mouth on his. But Mr. Way's reaching behind him, clearing the desk with one impatient swipe, papers and pens and books clattering to the floor.

Frank barely stops himself from falling on his face when Mr. Way spins him around and shoves him over it, hands smacking hard against the lacquered wood. "Oh _fuck_ ," he spits.

"Watch your mouth," Mr. Way snaps, pinning Frank down with a rough hand between his shoulder blades. "Get your pants down."

God, this is like Frank's entire spank bank, right here - he's not sure he's going to hold out long enough for them to even _do_ anything. Breathing hard, chest flat to the desk, He reaches a hand under him to fumble with his fly, wriggles until his pants slip off his hips. Mr. Way hums a satisfied noise. "Good. I tried to play the nice teacher with you, Frank, but if you're gonna keep pushing me, then _fine_. I'm risking a hell of a lot here, you understand that, don't you?"

Frank wants to say he wasn't trying to push him. He wants to say this is what he wanted all along, that _he isn't a slut_. Frank feels himself flush even as he thinks it; that's how Mr. Way saw him, sprawled out in his chair with spread legs and fuck-me eyes, shirt gaping, teasing his teacher. Frank doesn't know how to say it was less of a tease and more of an _invitation._ He doesn't know how to say _anything_ right now.

He does understand, though. God, he never thought Mr. Way would take that risk for him, and now that he is, Frank's not about to turn him down. So he nods, enough so Mr. Way can see, and Mr. Way responds by yanking his pants down to his ankles, coaxing Frank to step one foot out of them, leaving them still hooked around the other. And then he's sliding Frank's briefs down, too - pulling them over the curve of Frank's ass and leaving them there, bunched up around his thighs with his dick still caught halfway inside.

Frank squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in his forearms. He has never felt more naked, more exposed, than he does right now - in this large, empty classroom with Mr. Way's eyes on him. The hallways are quiet. He wonders if they're the only ones left in the school.

Mr. Way doesn't do anything for a long moment, but Frank can hear him breathing, feel the heat of him stood close. And then he's touching Frank's hair, his shoulders, fingers sliding down his spine with that same slow, clinical touch he used earlier, making Frank's skin prickle uncomfortably.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, Frank," Mr. Way eventually says, quiet and calm. "This is how it's going work. You do not have a say in this. You're gonna take what I decide to give you, and that's it. I think you can handle that. But if you need me to stop, tell me, and I promise I will. I give you my word I will not hold it against you. It will not affect our working relationship or the way I act towards you as your teacher. Anything we do here, stays here. Okay?"

Frank didn't know he was worried about any of that, but as he hears Mr. Way say it, suddenly he does feel reassured. He doesn't know what's coming, what Mr. Way has planned for him, and yet, inexplicably, Frank finds himself trusting his words. He nods again, heart thudding.

Mr. Way lets out a breath. "Okay." His touch disappears, body moving away. "Oh, also." Frank looks behind him, just in time to see Mr. Way sinking to his knees out of sight, hands sliding slowly up the backs of Frank's thighs. "You don't come. Not until I say you can."

"Oh," Frank breathes. "I--" but then Mr. Way's mouth is on his thigh and he forgets what he was going to say. It's hot and wet on the inside of his leg, the sensation soft and strange, so close to his balls it makes Frank shiver, twitching at the feel of it. Mr. Way's hands slide up over his ass and Frank hears himself make a high, strangled noise as they spread his cheeks apart, feeling himself flush from his face right down through his body. Frank knows what's coming, what Mr. Way's about to do; he's thought about it, alone in his bed with his hand on his cock, but he's never, no one's--

Mr. Way's tongue drags up, up, and all the air leaves Frank's lungs for a second. When it returns, it's on Frank gasping, "Oh _god_ ," hips bucking, fingernails scraping across the surface of the desk. It feels impossibly dirty, wet and probing, and Frank suddenly has a wild flash of thankfulness that he showered this morning. It feels good, too, Mr. Way's fingers digging hard into the flesh of his ass, his tongue alternating between lapping over Frank's hole and _pressing_ , dipping inside just barely - delicious pressure that only makes Frank think of getting fucked, of having Mr. Way's cock sliding into him where he's open and wet.

Frank gets loud fast, moaning into the desk as Mr. Way eats him out, hips twitching against his hold on him, cock starting to smear precome over his belly and underwear. He could come like this, he realizes, Mr. Way's tongue in his ass and his dick rubbing between his stomach and the constricting waistband of his briefs. But like Mr. Way read his mind, he pulls back and smacks Frank's ass, hard.

Frank gasps and flinches, rocking on the balls of his feet, skin burning hot from the blow. _Jesus_. Frank never thought he was into pain, particularly, but maybe there's just something about this - about Mr. Way hitting him, spanking his ass to keep him in line, to make him hold himself back. "God, _fuck_." 

Mr. Way slaps him again, right on the meaty curve where thigh meets ass, and Frank recognizes the warning, biting hard on his bottom lip to shut himself up. Mr. Way makes that satisfied noise again. "Good boy," he says lowly, breath hot on Frank's damp skin, and Frank shivers. "You look good. I like you like this, where only I can see you."

He slaps Frank again, with both hands this time, rubbing and squeezing Frank's cheeks roughly as he licks teasingly between them. Frank can't help his hips from working, fucking the air, forwards into nothing and back against Mr. Way's face. He feels desperate, face wet from sweat, drool smeared over his jaw and forearms. He's shaking, a little.

"Please," he croaks. "Please, sir."

"What?" Mr. Way's breath is heavier, but his voice is still carefully measured, low. "Come on, tell me what you want me to do to you, Frankie."

"Fuck me," Frank gasps out immediately. " _God_ , Mr. Way, please just fuck me."

"Hmm." Frank feels Mr. Way rise, a hand running up Frank's back, through the sweat between his shoulder blades, ruffing up the hair stuck to the nape of Frank's neck. "I'm not sure you deserve that yet. Can you prove you're sorry for your shameless behavior?"

Frank doesn't know what that means, but he nods anyway, forehead sticky on his own skin. Mr. Way makes a considering noise, throaty and rumbling, and then suddenly Frank's feeling the heat of him pressing all along his back, Mr. Way covering him from behind. "You've been fucked before then, Frank?" he asks lowly in Frank's ear. "Had a cock inside you, hm? Know what it feels like?"

Frank feels his face flame, but he nods again, breathing hard as Mr. Way licks at his neck, scrapes his teeth over Frank's ear. After so long feeling isolated, alone on the desk unable to see or touch, the contact is almost overwhelming. He can feel how hard Mr. Way is through his pants, against Frank's bare ass, and it's the first real indication Frank's had that this is affecting him at all. His confidence, his control, the ease with which he told Frank what was going to happen - Frank is quickly coming to realize that _Mr. Way does this a lot -_ has all sorts of kinky adult sex Frank has only ever seen in porn.

It's all making Frank feel deeply, painfully out of his depth. More than anything, it's making Frank feel _young_. Frank's not a virgin, but compared to Mr. Way he might as well be. He feels foolish, naive.

And yet, he also feels grounded, contained. Frank had no idea he wanted to be dominated like this, but _god_ , he's so turned on he's going fucking cross-eyed.

"What I want," Mr. Way murmurs, rougher, "Is for you to show me how you want me. _Where_ you want me. I want you to spread your ass for me, Frankie, so I can see. I wanna watch your pink, pretty little hole open up around my cock."

Frank's breath catches hard in his throat. Jesus _fuck,_ that's the filthiest thing he's ever heard, _including_ the porn. "Mr. Way--"

"You may call me Gerard while I'm fucking you," Mr. Way interrupts, and suddenly he sounds-- normal. Even a little hesitant, almost. "Just - just this one time."

 _Gerard_. Frank doesn't know why he never knew Mr. Way's first name. "Gerard," he whispers, trying it out, liking how it sounds in his mouth. "Gerard."

"Just this time," Mr. Way reminds him, breathing hotly against the back of Frank's neck, and shit, Frank hadn't even thought about there being _next times,_ let alone there being times with rules like that. He's not sure how good he'll be about it now that he knows, now he's got this piece of Mr. Way that makes him, _this_ , seem more real. "I just wanna hear you say it. When you're falling apart, when you're coming around me, I wanna hear you say my name."

"Yes," Frank breathes. He's so hard it hurts, dick throbbing, ass still stinging. "Yes, sir. Gerard."

Gerard stays pressed against him for a long moment, then he's straightening up and slapping Frank's thigh lightly, breaking the tension. Frank hears the rustle of clothes; he rises up on his forearms enough to look behind him and see Mr. Way unbuckling his belt. He looks so fucking hot - white shirt wrinkled and undone halfway, tie hanging off him, sleeves rolled messily up to his elbows and a thin sheen of sweat making his skin shine.

Frank knows Mr. Way's watching him, but he can't look away from his hands opening his pants, letting them sag around his hips. Frank catches a glimpse of dark underwear before Mr. Way's hand is there, palming himself a little through them, rubbing the fabric slowly against the tempting bulge of his cock. Frank's practically fucking naked in this classroom, and bent over like this, exposed for Mr. Way to see, watching him touch himself as he looks - yeah, Frank feels like something slutty right now.

What's getting him, though, is how much he _likes_ it.

He wants to be good for Mr. Way.

Slowly, Frank turns back to the desk, lowers himself down onto his chest so he can reach back behind himself. It's hard - the lack of support means he's forced to slump forwards, weight entirely on his chest, face turning sideways and hips tilting up. Frank huffs a harsh breath, sliding his hands up the backs of his own thighs until he's palming his ass.

He hears Gerard pause, exhaling slowly. Frank's gut feels tight and uncomfortable with embarrassment, but Gerard's heavy silence urges him on. He fans his hands over the mounds of his ass, kneading his fingertips against the muscle, sliding them just barely into the split. He closes his eyes, breathing hard.

"Go on," Mr. Way says, quiet but firm.

Frank does.

Gerard inhales sharply. He doesn't say anything, just lets Frank pant against the desk and try not to squirm or curl in on himself. God, this must look _obscene_. Frank's face feels almost as hot as his ass under his hands. He flinches when he feels Gerard's hands on his back, sliding down until he's touching Frank's knuckles, down between Frank's cheeks, a fingertip tracing lightly over his exposed hole. Frank feels it twitch at the touch and he shivers, eyes scrunched tightly shut - as though if he can't see, Mr. Way can't see either.

"Hold on," Gerard says, voice tight. There's the sound of his open belt clinking as he walks behind his desk, rustling noises of him rifling around in his bag. When he comes back and drops lube and a condom on the desk next to Frank's face, Frank almost laughs - this surreal flash of jittery, almost-hysteria - because _of course_ Mr. Way has fucking supplies with him. "You're gonna stay like this, okay? Keep yourself open for me, until I'm done with you. Don't," He trails off, seemingly distracted. "Don't forget what I said, earlier," he finally finishes, softer.

" _No_." The thought of stopping makes every nerve in Frank's body scream with protest. Fingernails digging into his own flesh, he pants out, "No, please, Mr. W-- Gerard. God, _Gerard_. I want -"

Gerard swears, quick and harsh under his breath, and spits down the crack of Frank's ass. It's such a shock Frank can't help but make a curse of his own, feeling Gerard's spit running down between his cheeks and dribbling over his balls. Gerard slaps his thigh in warning but doesn't say anything, just snatches up the lube from the desk. He gives Frank two slick fingers at once and Frank has to sink his teeth into his lip to stop himself from swearing again. It's been a while and the stretch is sudden and sharp and _good_. Mr. Way's fingers feel fucking perfect, thick and deep and _sure_ , pushing in and out easy and slippery with saliva and lube.

He's working in another in no time, curling inside _just right_ , making Frank whine and rock back, so worked up and needy for it he can't even _think_. He's distantly aware he's making a lot of noise and that he probably shouldn't be but Gerard doesn't tell him off, just pulls his fingers free and grabs the condom. He's strangely quiet now. Frank feels almost suspended in time - the sound of ripping foil, his arms and shoulders starting to ache - and so _empty_ , just waiting, holding himself open for Mr. Way's cock.

"Please," he says hoarsely, too turned-on to be embarrassed anymore, arching up on his toes to raise his hips in invitation, his underwear pulling painfully tight across his thighs. "M'sorry, I didn't mean to - I just. Just wanted _you_ , want you inside me, I - Gerard, _please._ "

"Christ, Frank, look at you," Gerard says breathlessly, pressing close behind him until Frank can feel the heat of his bare skin against his ass and thighs, fabric of his pants a vague brush against Frank's calves. His hands smooth down Frank's arms, sliding off at his wrists to grasp Frank's hips firmly, pulling their bodies together so his cock suddenly rubs up hot and hard over Frank's hole, sliding through the wetness between his cheeks.

Frank gasps, whimpers as Gerard starts to push in, slow, spreading Frank open inch by inch. He's tight, he can feel it, but he's soaking wet and Gerard fingerfucked him so good that the drag of his cock sliding inside is just right, sharp and sweet. He's big, Mr. Way - almost too much, but only in the best fucking way. Frank's squirming against the feeling of being so _full,_ Gerard all the way inside and not moving yet, hips flush against Frank's ass, trapping Frank's hands between their bodies. Distantly, Frank thinks he can hear himself panting.

"Okay?" Gerard asks. He's breathing hard himself, voice thick and turned-on, and for a split second Frank forgets that this is his teacher - almost forgets where they are, what they're doing, and has to will back the vicious swell of heat that threatens to make him lose control. He doesn't know what will happen if he comes without Mr. Way's permission, but he does know he doesn't want this to be over yet.

"Yeah, please, yes." Frank's aching, tense from his thighs right up through his straining arms. As Gerard starts to fuck him, pushing him against the desk, his skin quickly starts to chafe, sweat making his skin stick. It's rougher like this, with Frank's skin pulled taut by his own hands, friction that's almost too sharp to stand. Even with Frank so wet the burn of Gerard moving in and out is so intense it's almost painful, making Frank's voice wind higher, thinner with every thrust, _ah, ah._

"You like that?" Mr. Way says roughly, and groans when Frank nods frantically, fingers tightening on Frank's hips. "God, I knew you'd be like this, knew you'd be a little slut for me, just _taking_ it - thought about it, I--"

"Mr. Way, _fuck_ ," Frank moans, control gone, nothing in his mind except filth and need. A hand disappears from Frank's hip and Frank's expecting the slap, wants it - but then he feels Gerard's hand cover his own instead, thumb sliding inwards, rubbing at Frank's hole where it's stretched around him.

Frank's breath catches hard in his throat; christ, he wants to see that, wants to see if it looks like the pornographic image he has in his mind. But he'll settle for this, shifting his hands closer together until Mr. Way's cock is brushing his fingertips as it slides in and out of him, latex and lube making the digits slick, Gerard's hips hitting Frank's knuckles.

"Shit," Gerard grunts, grabbing both Frank's wrists. "Don't, Frank, I can't--" He yanks Frank's hands away, pins them flat on the desk either side of Frank's face. Frank hisses with shock, and then again as Gerard fucks him harder, using Frank's wrists as leverage, stretched out over his back, fucking him into the desk. It lets Mr. Way get deeper even without Frank holding himself open, and Frank knows he's babbling, half-formed pleas for Gerard to touch him, the hard pulse in his untouched cock forcing his attention.

Not that he needs it. He's gonna come in the next minute if Gerard keeps going like this, never mind what Gerard told him. He doesn't know if he manages to say that or if Gerard just senses it, but in the next instant he's got his mouth on the back of Frank's neck, teeth and tongue and voice a low, hot drawl in his ear, "Yeah, you're so close, aren't you, Frankie? I can feel it, bet you don't even need my hand - come on, baby, come for me, you can, you've earned it, such a good boy -" and Frank barely has time to moan out _Gerard_ before he comes, _hard_ , all over himself and Mr. Way's desk.

Gerard fucks him through it - through it and out the other side - doesn't let up at all even when Frank starts to whine, strung-out and oversensitive. Frank groans, hoarse and grating, hands clenching so tight under Gerard's grip they're starting to ache. " _Gerard_ , oh _fuck_ , god, please," and Frank doesn't even know what he's begging for anymore. The drag of Gerard's cock is still sending fierce, confusing little jabs of heat through his whole body, and Gerard's panting in his ear, moaning low under his breath. Frank can tell he's close, and he pushes back against him weakly, urging him on, letting Mr. Way use his spent body as he pleases.

Feeling Gerard come inside him is too much, and Frank presses his forehead against the breath-hot desk and tries to breathe through it, relishing Gerard's rough, gorgeous moan, half-muffled in Frank's hair.

They breathe together for a long moment, and then Gerard pulls out slowly. Frank hisses, and then Gerard’s releasing his wrists, urging him to turn over.

Frank goes easily, boneless, lets Gerard spread him out on his back on the desk and-- oh, kiss him. Finally, _finally_ Frank gets to feel Mr. Way's mouth, hot and wet, a hand sliding under Frank's sweaty neck to tilt his head up and the other stroking his damp hair back off his face. Frank moans thickly and grabs for Gerard's shoulders, suddenly hungry for touch like he hasn't just come so hard he's fucking dizzy. Gerard's still wearing his shirt and it rucks up under Frank's hands, and all Frank can think is that he wants to take it off, get them both fully naked and in a bed. It seems almost silly to want something so simple after this.

Gerard kisses him deeply, suddenly gentle, pressed as close between Frank's sprawled legs as his twisted underwear will allow. The fabric of Gerard's sagging pants is rough on Frank's thighs, hitched up awkwardly around Gerard's hips; it's really uncomfortable, and Frank really doesn't care. He makes a protesting noise when Gerard pulls back, but Gerard's smiling - not a smirk, not a tease, just one of those genuine easy grins he flashes in class when he's pleased. He's breathless, face flushed and shiny, hair in even more disarray than usual, tie almost out of its knot and the collar of his shirt crooked and crumpled.

It's Mr. Way and it's Frank's teacher and he doesn't look like anything except someone who just had sex, and Frank doesn't know how he feels. It's weird, surreal, like a double-take to make sure he's seeing things right.

Frank realizes he's staring when Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Frank? I didn't break you, did I?"

Frank shakes his head, but he doesn't look away. Fuck, this guy is so hot. The hottest Frank's ever had, by a mile. All the sex he's had with people his own age seems like pathetic fumbling in comparison, god, he doesn't know how he's coming back from this. "I, uh." He laughs a little at himself. "Sorry, just. Wow."

Gerard's smile does gain a sharp edge, then. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Oh, yeah. Frank almost forgot he was fucking _naked in his art classroom_. Gerard steps back to let Frank sit up, reaching over into his desk drawer and coming back with a couple of tissues. He doesn't give them to Frank though, wipes his chest and stomach down himself, gentle and focused, and Frank's breath catches a little. His bare ass is sticking to the desk and he shifts around awkwardly, trying to find a position that doesn't send twinges through his thighs and up his spine. Damn, he's gonna be feeling this for a _while_.

Gerard fumbles with his trailing shirttails to get rid of the condom, rucking up his shirt over his hips. Frank tries not to stare again. Gerard finishes tying it off, drops it on the desk next to them and pulls up his pants.

"Here," he says quietly, pulling Frank gently off the desk. Frank grits his teeth as his feet touch the floor, tries to distract himself from the ache by pulling his own underwear up. Gerard wipes down the desk, smirking a little, and Frank resists the weird half-laughing, half-embarrassed noise he wants to make. "I believe we are the only ones still here. Except for the janitors, of course."

"We should go," Frank agrees, and then realizes he doesn't know _where_ he's going. "Uh. Am I--"

"You're going home," Gerard says, and Frank tries not to feel too disappointed. Gerard pauses, and suddenly he's not smirking anymore. "I wouldn't want your mother to worry."

He looks _guilty,_ Frank realizes, and he's quick to say, "Oh, no, it's okay, she doesn't mind, really. She's pretty laid-back about stuff, like, she doesn't even try to ground me or anything anymore." Gerard winces at that and Frank wants to _yell_. Gerard has _nothing_ to feel guilty about. "No, Mr. Way, look--"

"Gerard," Gerard interrupts with a sigh. "Call me Gerard, please."

"But you said--"

"I know what I said," Gerard says impatiently. "But I don't want to be your teacher right now. I need you to look at me like I'm just another guy, and I need you to tell me--"

"I wanted this," Frank says immediately. Fuck, he can't believe he even has to say it, after everything. "I've wanted this for a _while_ , Gerard, seriously, you have to ask?"

"It's one thing to have something as your jerk-off fantasy, Frank," Gerard says dismissively, "It's quite another to transfer it to real life and expect it to be the same."

"It wasn't the same," Frank says, and goes on hastily when Gerard's eyebrows screw up, "It was _better_. I'm not a little kid, Gerard."

Gerard looks at him for a while, searching Frank's face for something Frank doesn't know. He raises his chin and holds Gerard's eyes, and eventually, Gerard sighs again. "No, you're not." And then suddenly he's crowding Frank against the desk, leaning down to lick at the sweat on Frank's neck. "I'm glad you got what you wanted. But I'm even more glad I got what _I_ wanted."

Frank splutters a little. "So," he says, voice hoarse, "are we, like--"

"We are whatever you want us to be," Gerard says easily. "If you don't want to do this again, that's fine. Like I said earlier, it won't affect the way we are here, as teacher and pupil. But if you do, Frank," and his voice is suddenly lower, predatory, "then I'll let you into my world. I'll bring you to the very edge of what you can handle, make you discover things about yourself you'd never dream were true." He looks into Frank's eyes when he says, "I'll make you _mine_."

Frank is momentarily speechless. He wasn't expecting that. Wasn't expecting the twist of heat in his stomach and chest. Wasn't expecting to-- not be freaked out. It's one hell of a loaded declaration - Frank's run away metaphorically screaming from a _lot_ less, but this feels different. Gerard isn't asking him to be his boyfriend.

He isn't _asking_ him for anything.

"Yeah," Frank says before he can stop himself. His mouth is kind of dry, heart thudding. "Yeah, okay."

Gerard just nods. His smile is back. He helps Frank back into his uniform, straightens his own, arranging them into a somewhat lame attempt at decency. "I'm gonna give you the weekend to think about it," he says, and kisses Frank before he can protest that he's already made up his mind.

But yeah, Frank has. He thinks he probably has no idea what he's getting himself into. 

He can't wait to find out.


End file.
